


used to this

by wormguts



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Johnny Storm, Depression, Dissociation, Established Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Top Peter Parker, Triggers, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-15 10:20:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20864612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormguts/pseuds/wormguts
Summary: You'd think that after so long, Peter would be used to this feeling, this emptiness. There's no love in this, no tenderness. And maybe that's what's missing. Maybe that's what makes this feel fundamentally wrong because Peter fucks Johnny because he loves him, and Johnny lets him because...





	used to this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i know what this is? i, in fact, do not!
> 
> let me know if you'd like more parts to this (: i have a bit more written and a general overview of where this is going but as far as accomplishing anything, well. that is up to you, dear readers.

.x.

A flame in the sky. _Spidey,_ _meet me at the usual place. _

For a brief, bewildering moment, Peter has no idea where that might be. Once, that place was at the top of Lady Liberty, a secret meeting place for two old friends to unwind, gaze across the water at the never-sleeping New York, a box of pizza between them. Once, that message meant something specific, concrete: friendship.

Since when did that change?

He doesn’t bother stopping home to prepare, think it over. There’s nothing to think _about_. It’s late, he’s already out, and Johnny needs him. That’s always been good enough for him.

Storm is waiting for him when he swings his way up the great statue’s length. There isn’t a box of pizza, but there usually isn’t. Not anymore.

“Pete,” Johnny breathes like he’s been waiting a long while.

As soon as Peter touches down, strong, warm arms engulf him in a tight hug. He sinks into the embrace gradually, the same way he eases into bed after a long, hard fight. Johnny notices the tense muscles under his touch because Johnny always does. But wisely, he chooses not to comment.

“What’d I miss?” he asks when he pulls away to get a look at Pete’s face. He lost his mask somewhere on the way up.

Peter smirks. “Some pretty epic ass-kicking from yours truly.” What he doesn't share is the way his heart sinks when Johnny takes his hand with this devious little look on his face. Or the way he resolutely ignores it.

"Mine or yours?"

Peter thinks about the state of his apartment, the mess of clothes strewn about the small space, the pile of dishes left unwashed in the sink. The place reeks. So he says: "Yours," and doesn't think more about it.

.x.

_"Pete, fuck._ F-fuck!"

Johnny is a mess under him. Flushed, breathless. A gorgeous sight by all measures. But Peter can't breathe. A suspicious lump sits somewhere in his throat and seizes up every time he tries to swallow.

It feels good. Then again, it always does. Johnny has this intoxicating aura to him that draws others to him like moths to a flame. Peter doesn't generally consider himself the poetic type, but the feel of Johnny's back, all hard, smooth plains only interrupted by pink scar tissue just this side of sensitive, the slim, tapered waist leading to the leaking member Johnny presses into the mattress with every thrust - it's beautiful. Peter can't get enough. He buries his face into the nape of Johnny's neck, taking care his thrusts don't stutter too much to give him away. Johnny's hands are in his hair, _pulling, pulling, pulling,_ reaching around to grope down his back, squeezing suspiciously close to his ass. Peter grunts.

"What? You have a great ass," Johnny says between puffs of breath. It's muffled by the pillow in his face.

He can't help it, he goes "Spider-Man bottoms for no man," and his chest feels a bit lighter at Johnny's snort.

"Yeah, except Cap, Deadpool, and every woman on Earth."

He spanks the brat abruptly at that, burying his cock deep in the place Johnny likes, and Johnny moans long and low, hips grinding into the mattress. His hands are going to leave bruises on Johnny's hips. He's holding on too tightly and he knows it, but he also knows Johnny's into that sort of thing. Likes to be used, treated like a fuck doll. And while a part of Peter will always feel guilty about it, far be it from him to deny Johnny what he wants. So if he holds on a bit tighter, like Johnny's narrow hips are the only lifeline Peter will ever have, well. Who can blame him?

"Fuck, you get so rough like this," Johnny all but grins at him, like he's the happiest he could possibly be with his best friend's dick up his ass. But Peter knows that is not and never will be the case, no matter how he indulges the fantasy. Peter's just another warm body to Johnny. And most days, he's okay with that.

Today's no different, right?

Peter huffs, listening to the sound of his balls slapping against Johnny's ass. It's dirty. Rough. Johnny likes it like that. Peter never really stopped to decide what he likes.

Most times they fuck, Johnny insists on doing it from behind, on whatever surface he's in the mood to be pounded into. Said it's his preference. But Peter can't help but feel there's more to it than Johnny lets on. Johnny makes all these rules, says rules are what turn him on, but they never really talked more about it. Peter just accepted them and moved on, surprised his best friend even considered fucking him - even if, in the end, it was nothing but that. There's no love in this, no tenderness. And maybe that's what's missing. Maybe that's what Peter's into. Maybe that's what makes this feel fundamentally wrong because Peter fucks Johnny because he loves him, and Johnny lets him because... why? He doesn't know.

"Johnny," he sighs now, wanting to turn the lithe body below him over and kiss him till he can't breathe. He wants to see Johnny's face, wants to feel his heated cheeks under his calloused hands, wipe away the tears from his eyes with soft fingers. He wants to hug him so close they converge into one entity, one person. He wants to share every part of himself.

But that's one of Johnny's rules. He doesn't like missionary. It's almost like Johnny doesn't want to see Peter defiling him like this. Almost like Johnny's pretending he's someone else.

Peter chokes on the lump in his throat and stills. The realization is like a kick to the gut. He feels like Venom just threw him through a reinforced concrete wall and played jump-rope with his intestines. He feels...

Used.

It makes sense, he muses in someplace far away in his head, away from the moment. It's a safe place, detached from the here and now, and he's so distracted he can almost forget he's still inside Johnny, who's craning his neck around in alarm, speaking, saying something to get Peter going again, probably, to _suck it up_ because they're both adults and Peter _agreed_ to this, damn it, he can't get his feelings hurt when he signed up to be used. But fuck. _Fuck. _

It must show on his face, the internal struggle. Because Johnny scoots forward on the bed, separating their bodies and cringing at the slide of Peter's dick from inside him. He turns to face Peter, looking for all intents and purposes like he's going to kiss him.

But that can't be right. They've never kissed. Fuck,_ they've never kissed._ It all makes sense now.

It's all Peter can do not to visibly crumble under the weight of his body. His rapidly softening cock lies against his thigh and Peter stares at it.

"-eter, are you in there?" Johnny's voice drifts to him through the silence of his head. He vaguely registers Johnny touching his cheek and the soft: "You're scaring me..."

And then he's gone, out the window, pulling his suit back on with bile climbing up his esophagus. It sticks in all the wrong places and Johnny yells after him, but Peter needs to go, get out. He needs air and to never feel like this again. He needs to sit someplace long enough he disappears. He needs... he needs to forget he's in love with his best friend.


End file.
